Howl
by portendpike
Summary: "I must keep the memory close, you see. It is all I have left." With reverent affection, Shizuru clasps Natsuki's hand around the ring and presses it to her lips. There is much about Shizuru that Natsuki still does not understand. The unspoken rules between them play out like a dance. [AU]
1. Chapter 1

Beyond the ancient stone of the castle walls, the winds howl like wolves baying at the moon.

They pay no heed to the raging snowstorm.

The scope of their world is the confines of Shizuru's private study.

Ensconced between towering bookshelves and basking in the warm glow of the crackling fireplace, Natsuki rests, head cradled in Shizuru's lap. Shizuru hums, the lilting notes of an unfamiliar tune drawing Natsuki into a languid lull. Closing her eyes, Natsuki revels in the sensation of Shizuru stroking her scalp. She lets out a full-bodied sigh then, curled up and utterly content to bask in the moment.

When Shizuru chuckles in response, Natsuki can feel it ripple through her whole body like a wave. Soft and tinkling, the sound is like music to Natsuki's ears. Eyes still shut, Natsuki licks her lips, thoughts straying to the heated symphony from earlier. The moans and mewls, the thrilling crescendo of Shizuru's ecstasy rising up and up: just within her reach, just beyond her grasp.

 _Celestial music,_ Natsuki had thought, head in the clouds and heart in a vice.

She wants more of it now.

Desire seizes her, budding like champagne bubbles from deep within her core. She wants to carry her down to the fine silk carpets adorned with the sigil of Shizuru's esteemed house. She wants to claim her once more. What other breathtaking melodies could she draw from those lips?

 _How strange,_ whispers her trailing sense of reason. This hunger. This pining ache she cannot slake with control. Maybe ambrosia was not meant for mortals.

It should unnerve her, but all she feels is the trill of her want spurring her onwards.

* * *

When Natsuki opens her eyes though, her thoughts lose their footing when she spies a ring hanging by an elegant silver chain. It nestles in the dip of Shizuru's breasts, framed by the open white dress shirt she had carelessly thrown on. Natsuki hadn't noticed it before, far too absorbed with ridding Shizuru of her fineries and greedily exploring the expanse of pale, supple skin…

In an almost magnetic trance, Natsuki reaches out to gingerly cradle the item in her palm, soaking up its faint, residual warmth.

For a second, Shizuru's warm, honeyed eyes catch the glint of metal and gleam, haunting and bright. Natsuki stares, transfixed. It is hard not to notice how Shizuru's breath stalls in her throat at the sight, as if a dagger had been slid, past her ribs and into a lung.

(There is much about Shizuru that Natsuki still does not understand.)

When her query finally slips out, it is in a whisper, "an heirloom?"

"A keepsake," Shizuru answers, gentle as always, expression warm and eyes unreadable. "I must keep the memory close, you see. It is all I have left." With reverent affection, Shizuru clasps Natsuki's hand around the ring and presses it to her lips.

(She was an enigma. In their beginning, it was what spurred Natsuki onwards. Now, it feels like every morsel of knowledge she scavenges forms another fragment of their swan song.)

When Shizuru smiles against the back of her hand, Natsuki can see how her lips are still bruised from their earlier tryst. _Good_ , Natsuki thinks. Chest tight, she lets go of the ring to splay her fingers against Shizuru's jaw and to press her thumb to Shizuru's lips. Natsuki tilts her head for a better view and savours the way Shizuru's rich brown eyes seem to glow red as she stares curiously back at her. Natsuki holds that gaze intently as her hands travel down the smooth, pale column of Shizuru's neck. Beneath her calloused hands, she can feel Shizuru swallow, can feel her pulse quicken in anticipation.

Natsuki has never considered herself a romantic, but in this brutal place of stone and snow, she feels the sharp pull to immortalise Shizuru as she is now: cast in the gold glow of the fireplace, with the rosy flush of her skin and the affection and longing plain in those caramel eyes. Ah... but Natsuki has never had the soul of a poet or an artisan... Too clumsy is she for such delicate undertakings. Let her roving hands be the brush instead, let her mind be the paper. She will have to make do with a haphazard sketch.

Shizuru shivers, helpless and pliant before her touch when Natsuki's fingertips brush against a hickey left over an old wound. _Good_ … Natsuki thinks again and resists the urge to surge up and kiss her right then. Whatever ghost held Shizuru's heart… right here, right now, this dominion was hers, at least.

(Whispers Natsuki's heart this: _Lowly hunter. Petty thief. You seek communion, yet all you can steal are moments in time._ )

There is much about Shizuru that Natsuki still does not understand. There are scars on her skin that Natsuki has mapped with hands and soothed with her tongue: bullet wounds and stab wounds webbed and faded over time.

She retraces those steps now. An entire tapestry of stories lay bare before Natsuki's uncomprehending eyes…

How many times would it take for her to truly see?

(It wouldn't be enough, she knew, no matter how much time they had. It wouldn't be enough, even if they had forever and a day.)

* * *

There is much about Shizuru that Natsuki still does not understand.

The unspoken rules between them play out like a dance. Natsuki swallows her apprehension, afraid and uncertain about overstepping her bounds, of ruining the tempo that has allowed them to keep in step.

When at last Natsuki's palm rests above Shizuru's heart, she gathers the courage to speak.

"A memory… is that all I'll be to you?"

Shizuru tilts her head to the side and blinks slowly, entirely unprepared with how to answer. Her wavy chestnut tresses spill from over her shoulder and brush against Natsuki's hand. Natsuki waits with baited breath, waits for her heart to be ripped out, still-beating, from her chest.

"They say that want cannot be truly felt without absence." Shizuru says with a small, placid smile.

Inscrutable as always. A non-answer. Why did Natsuki ever expect otherwise? In response, Natsuki scoffs and pushes petulantly at Shizuru's chest with her palm, then turns away from her with a huff. Courtly pomp was all aristocrats were good for. And there it was again: that bemused chuckle. Natsuki hates how her cheeks flare red in embarrassment, hates feeling so at the mercy of Shizuru's whimsy.

She stands up abruptly, prepared to storm all the way down the corridors back to her quarters despite her state of undress. Let the sombre portraits of royals look upon her retreat with disdain. Let the castle servants titter and gossip.

It all happens in a rush. Shizuru has to reel back to avoid bashing heads with her. "Wait," Shizuru pleads as she makes to follow. "I'm sorry. Please! My hunter, l beseech you"—Shizuru grabs her wrist—"stay."

Natsuki tenses, then dips her head down.

At her feet lie carpets woven with regal gold and brilliant red: the twin lions, facing the world with their backs to each other. This is not a world in which she belongs. Natsuki thinks about the string of lovers in front and behind her and the knot in her chest pulls taut. She wishes otherwise, but her treacherous heart feels neither fury nor bitterness at this revelation.

"Don't call me that. I am yours as much as you are mine."

Shizuru's grip is firm, but gentle. Natsuki could pull away with ease if she so wished. Instead, she turns back to face Shizuru, her dark hair whipping about as she glares defiantly up at the taller woman. "Well, what is it, then?" She snipes. "Speak!"

"I… You will never be just a memory to me," Shizuru says, voice tender as her thumb traces placating circles on Natsuki's calloused palm. What expression was Shizuru wearing right then? Natsuki can't say. It hurts too much to look at her.

 _Why would she say that?_ Natsuki's skin burns where they touch. Her eyes itch. She will not cry, even now as she teeters on the brink between hope and despair: a fool to her bleeding heart.

"I don't have time for your games," Natsuki says tersely, her tone belying her exhaustion.

"You were never a game to me," Shizuru speaks softly as she cups Natsuki's cheeks. Gently, she coaxes Natsuki to meet her gaze. "My hunter, you are mine as I am yours, and never have I been so afraid."

Natsuki looks searchingly into Shizuru's eyes and sees no subterfuge, no profundity, just simple fact. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west; Shizuru yearns for her and fears it in equal measure. The kiss that follows is a tender admission that speaks as such.

Admittance is a form of surrender, in a way, Natsuki thinks giddily as they break apart. If they should face each other, let it be as this: with their weapons set aside and intentions laid bare.

How quickly Natsuki's temper unravels at the thought.

What a fool she is, to dream.

* * *

How far from home she has strayed. What would her dead say, unavenged as they are and bleeding into the earth where she buried them? Righteousness had spurred her to action then. Natsuki has not forgotten them, but what moves her now: she does not yet know.

"What will we do?" Natsuki asks, voice thick.

Shizuru looks away as if ashamed. "What we must. Our duty. When the snowstorm passes, you will conclude your hunt, as I will mine. I will not shackle you with my selfishness."

Natsuki scoffs and rolls her eyes. Duty and honour: they are high tenets she has been force-fed all her life. Her next words are sharp. She means for them to sting. "You speak of selflessness. It sounds like cowardice."

When Shizuru takes a step back in surprise, Natsuki presses forward. Her heart urges her onward, a tempestuous beast that will not be so easily cowed.

"Shizuru, we stand before each other: hunters both. I shall have a say in my own fate."

She expects Shizuru to flinch away at their proximity. She expects Shizuru to turn cold and cruel. Natsuki's brow furrows when instead the woman only tilts her head curiously, lips curling into an effervescent smile. "Always so expressive... Ever so defiant… I adore that about you." Shizuru murmurs, voiced filled with wonder as she reaches out to gently tuck stray strands of dark hair behind Natsuki's ear.

Her ears burn at the breath of air, and a chill shoots up her spine at the soft caress of lips when Shizuru continues. "You burn so bright, yet know so little. You stalk beasts, not man, do you not?"

Her tone remains even, but something stirs in Shizuru then, like an ancient and sinuous thing from the depths. She feels the weight of its gaze when Shizuru pulls back to look at her proper, and Natsuki has never felt so insignificant."Good hunter, do not presume to understand. The things I have seen… the things I have done…" The light playing over Shizuru's features paints a cruel picture. She wears a facsimile of a smile that does not reach her eyes. "There are depths of the soul no mortal should ever delve."

In the wake of her words, silence saturates the air, setting the stage before a predator pounces. On instinct, Natsuki's hands reach in vain for a weapon not at her side.

Natsuki had overheard the clipped tones and harsh whispers among the nobles at court. It was a dark path Shizuru walked, with a scalpel in one hand and a sword in the other. She had heard the rumors of the lives she had saved and the many she had reaped. Battlefields would bloom in Shizuru's wake, awash with color and ruin. They envied her power. They feared it. This creature of instinct, not decorum, is Shizuru too, a darker, baser part of her, but Shizuru all the same.

Shizuru could kill her if she so wished. Natsuki envisions this now as she stares into those ruby eyes: blood in the air, blood in her mouth. She imagines crossing swords with a being of profound beauty and devastation and falling to her blade. Would Shizuru hold her close as the color drained from her eyes?

The moment passes in a blink when Shizuru looks away from her. The bone-deep, paralyzing chill seeps from Natsuki's body in the same span of time she remembers to exhale.

There were certainly worse ways to die.

* * *

"The blood on my hands is not something I wish upon you, my hunter." Shizuru looks at her open palms, and smiles brokenly. "I am beyond the reach of salvation."

She steps away from Natsuki. Then, as if to guard from a sudden chill, she draws the rumpled, white shirt closed about her.

Natsuki's heart clenches in pain at the sight. She can hear her blood pounding in her ears. Her hands are still trembling ever so slightly, in exhilaration, in fear. They were living weapons both, but Shizuru talked as if she were something wretched and beastly.

Natsuki doesn't understand. What stood before her was a woman little older than her, broken and hurting. Natsuki had slain beasts enough to understand that Shizuru wasn't one. Beasts hurt indiscriminately. Killed indiscriminately. The fact that Shizuru wished her no harm was indicative enough.

Natsuki doesn't understand, but maybe she wasn't meant to. She was an outsider after all, a double-edged sword neither privy to their secrets, nor as shackled to their ideas of propriety.

Natsuki takes one step forward, then again. Slowly, so as not to startle with sudden movements. "Our quarry may differ, but I know enough from what I've seen. Beasts and man: when cornered, desperation breeds the same instincts in us all. I've seen you as you are. I know enough to understand that you don't have to walk alone in the dark." Natsuki had braced herself for rejection, but it still hurt when Shizuru flinched away when she reached for her.

"Natsuki… how brave and precocious you are to utter those words. You seek to decide your fate, but your eyes are still shut to the truth." Shizuru speaks and though she does not raise her voice, it is powerful enough to cut through the background din like a knife. "Good hunter, we are but flies caught in a web: mortal vessels to be used and discarded… For your sake, I pray you never truly understand."

Shizuru hails from nobility. It radiated outward, in her bearing, in her grace. Every fluid motion held meaning. It spoke of her stature. It spoke of her strength. Natsuki sees this now, from the rigid set of her shoulders, to her cold, cutting words. "You seek to follow me into the darkness, where things will get darker still." Shizuru's eyes catch the light of the fire and seem to glow with the same intensity that made Natsuki's heart thunder in her chest, all those nights ago. "Dear heart, you seek your ruin and I will not abide by it."

Again, she takes a step back.

Again, Natsuki presses forward. Closer now. The tempo between them picks up. Their noses barely brush. Natsuki must tilt her head up to meet those eyes. Careful now. If she falters, they will both be lost.

"If my path to ruin leads to you, I will it to happen. I claim no noble lineage. My mother forsook everything when she left. As she forged her own path then, so too shall I. If not now, then one day, when my eyes do see." Natsuki says resolutely. They are so close. She can feel the heat of Shizuru's body. "Wait for me, I bid you."

"You know not what you ask of me." Shizuru says softly, brokenly. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. She trembled, ever so slightly, as if cowed by the weight of her world.

Natsuki ached to comfort her. "I know enough of you to ask it." Natsuki leans up then, to cup her face in her hands and gaze into her eyes. "Who you once were, who you are now… whatever you will become: I want you. All of you."

"There will come a time you will be given a choice. The night will be long and the way to me treacherous. I pray instead that you keep away. I know enough not to hope." Shizuru says, resigned to their fate, and there is something in her cardinal gaze. It heralds a language that precedes mortal tongues. It moves like an unseen shape in the night.

Epiphany happens in a fleeting instant. Natsuki glimpses both clearly, the moon and its shadow: its gentle, glowing luminescence and dark, unfathomable depths. The things that Shizuru has done… the things she has seen… _Insight is a profane revelation_ , Shizuru had told her once before. Sturdier vessels have been shipwrecked on this path. She knows this, yet it is too late for her to turn back, caught as she is in an undertow bent for the open sea.

The revelation is as startling as it is fleeting.

Natsuki blinks, and only wisps remain. On the wall behind, the shadow of Shizuru's regal figure looms tall and flickers against the light of the flames. Before her stood the woman she fell in love with. When tears start to bead at the corner of Shizuru's eyes like the makings of pearls, Natsuki peppers kisses to them, and to her forehead, then holds her close, fingers splaying against the back of her neck.

They pull back then to look at each other. There was still so much she did not comprehend, but here, now, Natsuki sees Shizuru… in all her divine splendor, in all her mortal frailty. If this was the road to perdition, then so be it, Natsuki decided. She surges up then, just as Shizuru leans down to kiss her, an oath sworn without the exchange of words.

They meet halfway, longing and desperation melding like their shadows against the wall.

Natsuki cannot help the trill in her heart even as a shiver runs down her spine.

* * *

Thank you for reading this strange lil story! It was supposed to be darker and more unsettling, but Natsuki "ride-or-die" Kuga had other plans. Do share your thoughts.

I've been trying to get back into writing so feel free to shoot me any Shizuru/Natsuki prompts. Can you guess which video game kicked my ass and inspired this?


	2. Chapter 2

"There you go, your contract, signed and sealed," croaks the doctor with the gangly beard, scroll in hand crinkling as he tucks it into his long, dark coat.

At the far end of the dim, musty hall, her summons sits on a wooden stool, together with her pocket watch. The letter is worn and faded. It is of no consequence. She has memorised its message by heart now…

She grew pensive in the moments that followed. Where was Shizuru at this precise moment? There was little comfort to be had here, alone and insignificant as she felt at the edge of a chasm of uncertainty.

Up through the skylight, beyond the cobwebs and dust mottled glass, Natsuki can glimpse the trace beginnings of stars in the evening sky. There was little comfort to be had here, save the constellations up above, the guiding lights of a celestial compass.

* * *

The cold of the steel operating table seeps through Natsuki's clothes and into her back. Strapped down and helpless, Natsuki can only eye the wizened old man warily as he readies the syringe.

For all his shabby bedside manner, the blood minister's gnarled hands keep steady as he taps into a vein on her arm. The needle enters; the blood soon follows. Natsuki furrows her brows at the sight. It doesn't look much like blood at all.

(Of course she doesn't trust him. Still, she couldn't afford to be choosy. Her time was running short as it was, and there were promises she still needed to keep.)

"There's nothing quite like the first time," he remarks with a throaty laugh as he turns away. "Whatever happens next, you may think it all a bad dream."

The prick of a rose thorn soon turns into lightning. Alarm seizes her then. She hisses in pain, struggling in vain against the leather restraints. It feels as if someone has set her ablaze. She demands to be released, threatens to eviscerate him.

It all falls on deaf ears.

His words echo hauntingly from down the corridor, "It's a gift from the gods, girl. Savour it."

Natsuki can only glare hatefully at his retreating back. She howls curses at his gods, at this abattoir of a clinic. She claws maddeningly at the steel table under her nails until the sensations become too much to bear.

 _Horrors peddled as miracles._

It is too much. The human body was never meant to house such accursed gifts.

Eventually, Natsuki succumbs to sleep, half convinced she will never awaken from this living nightmare.

* * *

Natsuki dreams of soft, sleep-mussed hair spilling through her fingers like silk. She dreams of cheeks dimpling ever so slightly as lips part in a beatific smile. It's divine, Natsuki thinks giddily, of her smile, of the look of love writ plain across her face, and every inch of her body where they touch, a language all itself.

The sun has yet to break, but Shizuru was an early riser by compunction. Natsuki mumbles protests against her lover's neck when she makes to rise. She soothes the playful bites with drowsy kisses, then clings like a human vice.

Soon, the castle will come alive with activity. For the moment, the sturdy wooden door at the mouth of Shizuru's quarters keeps the world at bay. For the moment, this little pocket of time was theirs and theirs alone.

"Quite the morning tyrant, aren't we?" Shizuru murmurs fondly against the crown of her head.

Natsuki grunts her assent and burrows deeper under the downy covers, like a mole seeking respite from the elements.

The weight against her body is solid and warm.

Natsuki doesn't want to let go just yet.

Natsuki basks in the feeling of laughter bubbling up between them, breathes in the scent of her, the musk of old tomes and fresh ink, of gunpowder and steel. There is nowhere else she would call her home. No where else in the world.

"I desire nothing more than to linger here with you," Shizuru says plaintively, drawing close to press a kiss to her brow. "But the world will not wait for us to stand on shaky legs."

Her tone is ever tender, but the words cut Natsuki down to the quick. The world will not wait, and neither will Shizuru, the thought dawns with startling clarity. A clean cut, straight through. She crumples from the fatal blow, made without spilling even an ounce of blood.

Natsuki feels it even though her eyes are shut - Shizuru slipping away from her, little by little. The colour and warmth and smell drains from the dream like a painting left out in the rain until soon there is nothing at all.

Oblivion presses down all around, an empty vacuum of space devoid of meaning. She gulps and gasps, choking on nothing. How much time has passed? With nothing to cling to, Natsuki cannot know. She shudders violently, drowning in an abyss with no reprieve.

Purgatory stretches and folds in on itself in a torturous loop until she hears it. There in the darkness: the sound of a voice.

 _Wake up, my love_ , Shizuru says, kneeling by the edge of the bed. Natsuki feels it, the ghost of her touch on her cheek, the salt of her tears.

 _Wake up._

With tears in her eyes, Natsuki wakes.

* * *

In another time, in another place, Natsuki tugs at the collar of the ceremonial attire as she steps into the castle's throne room. A stranger in a strange land, she has never felt so out of place.

Their banners hang resplendent along the walls. The knights line the walkway to the throne with their weapons at the ready. Natsuki clucks her tongue at the grand, almost decadent procession. They are putting on a show, she understands, of their culture, of their strength.

Courtly decorum and bombast count for much in this part of the world.

She knows the role she must play, yet her motions remain stilted. This is no time for lavishness. The beast yet roams the land. Her people lie unavenged. If she had her way, she would do away with it all. But she is a guest of these lands at best. Her actions decide much. This day might end with her fed to their dogs.

(If it were to come to that, the world would not bat an eye to her fate…)

When it is time to be introduced to the court, they bequeath onto her no courtly titles, just a name and a profession. Before the courtiers and knights, she kneels before their queen, and willfully blinds herself to the contemptuous whispering. They eye her like a strange creature and pin her with glares of distrust.

Her mother was someone of worth to their court once. Natsuki? Natsuki is only a hunter.

The queen beckons her forward with a purposeful flick of her wrist. Natsuki had expected a tyrant, not the frail and beautiful young monarch with the sharp, grey eyes. Atop her head of long, ashen hair, her crown shimmers ethereally like a halo in the candlelight. Her unwavering gaze follows Natsuki as she obediently kisses the back of her pale, dainty hand.

It is cool to the touch. When Natsuki makes to pull away, the queen's fingers snap shut about her wrist.

Natsuki freezes in wide-eyed shock.

When their eyes meet, the queen gives a mysterious smile. The weight of that gaze makes her shiver; makes Natsuki cast aside her earlier assumptions of a puppet, a ruler only in name.

About them, the entire court stills. The nobles perk up, eager for juicy morsels of information that would give them an edge at court. The guards tense, ready for the command, swords poised to strike her down. The waif of a woman was the cornerstone of their monarchy. One word was all it would take for Natsuki's head to roll.

"My, you are a splitting image of Saeko," The queen croons softly, like a caged songbird. "If you are anything alike, I bid you tread carefully."

Just as abruptly, she relinquishes her hold. Natsuki's brows furrow uneasily at her words. When she takes to the knee again, her head is a storm.

"Speak now," The queen's voice echoes off the stone chambers. "What is it you ask of our noble house?"

* * *

What had been her mother's role here at court? And what of her relation to the queen? The queen's words keep echoing in her mind. It was a veiled threat disguised as advice. Was Natsuki reading too much into it, or not enough?

So many questions with no answers.

It felt futile. Like no matter how much she thought about it, the truth would elude her grasp. The bigger picture loomed, tantalisingly, cruelly, like an unknown at her periphery.

She sighs and lets the chill caress her face when she steps out onto the balcony. Behind her, the festivities carried on, racurously and without pause. Natsuki pays them no heed. The lively atmosphere of song and dance had felt most stifling.

Though her dress is well tailored, the frills do not suit her in the least, Natsuki thinks as she tugs at her sleeves for the umpteenth time that night. Ruffles and lace and the cut of her dress: it chafes. Everything chafes.

 _At least the drink is good,_ Natsuki thinks as she drinks from her goblet. She will grant her hosts that distinction, at least. It's so different from what she's used to in colour and taste. Different, but not unwelcome. The wine and the food both.

The cold stone cuts to her skin where she rests her elbows. This vantage offered much in the way of perspective, she thought, catching the scent of pine carried over the wind. She gazes westward, to where the woods stretched out like a spindling maze. To the north lay the treacherous mountain pass.

Which path did her quarry take? Every day she spent here, the beast got further away…

From this breakneck height, she looks down at the courtyard, and can vaguely make out the entrance to the stables. The knights had rode out gallantly to meet her just today. If she were to escape tonight, would they give chase and put her down?

She supposed those musings would have to wait. Call it a sixth sense. Natsuki could feel it, like how an animal knows it is in the grips of a predator.

* * *

She grips the goblet tight, half expecting to fend off an assassin. Instead, who she comes to face with when she turns around is a woman armed with mischief in her eyes and two goblets of wine in hand.

The interplay of light and dark over the woman's countenance felt ethereal, like one of the castle's beautiful marble sculptures had come to life and was waltzing up to her.

In the soft, trailing light from the main hall, her long, blonde-brown hair looks spun from gold. Lithe and elegantly dressed, the noblewoman didn't look at all the part of a hired knife. Still, Natsuki knew enough not to underestimate her. Misdirection was a skill and art both, and the element of surprise was a weapon in itself.

She could see clearly now, the sword at the woman's side, its sheath glinting under the faint light of the moon. The sight bred familiarity in her, and longing. Natsuki frowns, feeling naked without the weight of her own sword.

"Why have you come?" Natsuki eyes her warily as she cradles her goblet of wine to her chest.

The woman tilts her head just so, and with a charming smile, offers her a goblet. In the soft glow of the moonlight, Natsuki can see enough of her features to pick her out of a crowd. She's beautiful, it's plain to see, but Natsuki cannot help how her eyes narrow in anger, cannot help her temper getting the better of her.

"I _have_ a drink. I should think you'd know, having stared all night! Or is your memory that shallow?" Natsuki all but shouts.

Pink dusts the woman's pale cheeks at that. It feels vindicating, Natsuki will admit. The woman deserved every bit of ignominy Natsuki could wring out - reparations for how her piercing gaze had trailed her all through the night. When she could bear it no longer, Natsuki had looked up at one point and glared defiantly. But when Natsuki bore the full brunt of her scrutiny, she had to look away.

Natsuki's cheeks had flushed scarlet then. Those ruby eyes, burning with curiosity and filled with such a singular purpose… The attention had been too much for her to bear.

"We so rarely receive visitors from the east." She says, voice even, words deliberate. "I thought it prudent to establish diplomatic relations."

Natsuki rolls her eyes. It was a curated performance, all of it.

"You don't look at all the part of a diplomat," Natsuki says tersely. Not a diplomat, no. Natsuki could sense it from her approach, filled with purpose and grace, like a leopard on the hunt. She couldn't mask the undercurrent of danger about her, no matter the layers of gold filigree. Under the woman's leather gloves, Natsuki is sure her palms would be lined with callouses.

The woman chuckles, a soft, short melody. Briefly, it cut through the mournful wind ahead of them, and the rowdy festivities behind them.

"Pray tell, what is a diplomat meant to look like?" The woman asks. She raises one delicate eyebrow, the corner of lips quirking ever so slightly.

"Do not toy with me," Natsuki snipes. "Why have you come?" Natsuki asks again, restlessly swirling the goblet of wine as she leans on the balcony. "To gawk like all the others?"

"I shall have a word with them." The honey-haired woman answers diplomatically with a sigh. "They know better than to treat a lady so coarsely."

Natsuki scoffs. She tips back the wine in one foolhardy action, then leaves the goblet empty on the stone.

"Tis all a charade," Natsuki says, gesturing to the elegant blue dress the castle servants had insisted she wear. "I am no lady."

The woman eyes her appreciatively before taking a dainty sip from her own cup. "A rose is a rose, even if she thinks herself a weed," she says, her admission soft, her eyes coy.

Natsuki rolls her eyes again, even as she feels her cheeks warm. All the wine must be getting to her head at last; the drink and the journey bearing down on her weary body.

 _Aristocrats and their silver tongues..._ Natsuki drew a sharp breath. The woman was beautiful, even a fool could not ignore it. Natsuki bites the tip of her tongue to still her thoughts, tasting iron in her mouth.

"I warn you. A rose has many thorns." Natsuki says with little bite, face hidden from view as she turns away.

Natsuki is rewarded by another soft laugh. While the woman hums thoughtfully in the aftermath, Natsuki seizes the opportunity to recompose herself.

"My lady, pardon my ardour and the discomfort I've caused you before. To answer your question about why I've come. It wasn't just to gawk," The noblewoman continues, drawing closer to stand next to her. "The view from afar was by no means poor, it simply wasn't enough. I was seized by a great curiosity, you see, and wanted to see for myself - the woman, not the spectacle."

Natsuki cannot help the short burst of incredulous laughter. This strange woman had a talent for unbalancing her. What else had Natsuki expected? A witch hunt, no doubt. Her head on a metaphorical pike, maybe. Not this, whatever though it may be. "I see. And how is she holding up?" Natsuki replies, amused despite herself. "The woman to the spectacle, I should say."

The noblewoman takes it as good a sign as any. Again, though most shyly this time, she offers up to Natsuki the extra goblet of wine.

 _Fine then. If that is what she wants, then so be it,_ Natsuki thinks. If Natsuki's head shall roll, then so be it.

Instead of taking the proffered cup, Natsuki brazenly swipes the goblet the woman had been drinking from. A part of her thinks this in the aftermath: _How unwise you are, acting in such haste._ She thinks briefly of her father's stern, reprimanding hand. She thinks of his broken, bloodied sword.

"I'm not at all in my element," Natsuki says self-deprecatingly as she takes another gulp of wine, drawn into a mull. "A hunter declawed must make a sorry sight."

The woman hums thoughtfully as she traces the lip of her goblet with a long, slender finger. If they were holding wine glasses, the woman would be able to make hers sing. It would be a pure, sonorous sound, Natsuki is sure.

"I shan't say that." The woman smiles slyly at Natsuki from over the lip of her cup, "On the vine or not, a rose still has its thorns."

* * *

A/N: Thank you to everyone who's showed interest in this weird lil story and extra kudos to those who guessed that Bloodborne inspired this! Thank you, Reader. To answer your question, you're right! Shizuru is taking the place of Cainhurst's Lady Maria. :) (I'm taking a lot of liberties though wrt the lore and backstories haha.)

I'm torn between a darker, unsettling story and an adventure-romance, so you get a bit of both here in different timelines. Was this sequel-prequel too freaky? Feel free to share your thoughts or send requests on what to write next. Till next time. :)


	3. Chapter 3

The woman smiles slyly at Natsuki from over the lip of her cup, "on the vine or not, a rose still has its thorns." Her words hang in the crisp night air. For a moment, all they do is look at each other, each sizing the other up, each drinking the other in.

Natsuki is the first to look away. How piquant, it feels, to have her words thrown back at her. How piquant, and glib as well. Natsuki combs her hands through her long dark hair, loosening the braid the castle maids had her don. "I meant what I said before," Natsuki insists. "I won't be toyed with."

Interest shines in the woman's brown-red eyes. Wisely, she opts to hold her tongue. Emboldened, Natsuki continues.

"I shall have my dignity, at least. They've stripped me of everything else, from my blade, to my horse." In indignation, Natsuki blew a puff of air out her mouth, jostling a loose fringe of straight, dark hair. "They way they look at me, like some strange, petty thing… I feel like an animal pacing about a cage."

"Our lives are not so dissimilar," the woman murmurs against the lip of her goblet. "It behooves me to admit, but I'm a bit of a pariah myself."

"I appreciate the attempt to commiserate, but have you looked in a mirror?" Natsuki scoffs, not believing her in the least. "If it was possible to look any more like you belonged, you'd be part of the damned drapes."

* * *

"I'm afraid it goes beyond that," she says quietly, forlornly gazing out into the cloudless night sky. "I envy you, almost… but we've only disarmed you for one fight, to arm you for another. You'd do well to keep your wits about. The court is another battlefield."

The gears in Natsuki's head are turning. Words comes straying from long ago. _No gift is freely given, so ponder the price before paying the toll._ "To what do I owe your generous advice?" Natsuki asks stiffly, a trite suspicious.

The woman lets out a gentle, considering hum. "Earlier, you spoke of being trapped. You could say that of all of us here. In a way, we're each pacing about a cage, made to play by a set of rules. I have since longed to break free. It might not be possible on my own, but-" she trails off then, to smile effervescently at Natsuki, eyes coy.

"You seek a vicarious life," Natsuki hazards, crossing her arms. "Is that it?"

The woman's laughter this time is gregarious and clear. "Not a vicarious life, no. But you needn't concern yourself, my dear. All I seek from you is the graciousness of your company."

"Diplomatic relations again, is it?" Natsuki harrumphs. She can't discern the nuance of her expression. It's bothersome. Frowning, Natsuki works on polishing off her wine.

"Call it what you will. I ask only that you indulge me," the woman says with a playful wink. In a graceful flourish, she bows and extends a hand out towards Natsuki. "If I may be so bold," she says gently, inclining her head towards the dancing couples.

When the implication dawns, Natsuki chokes on the wine. She coughs once, twice, eyes widening in alarm as she peers past the woman, into the ballroom, where the accompaniment is ushering in a slow dance. It suddenly feels much too warm.

"I don't-"Natsuki stutters, wiping the mess at the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand-"I don't dance." The disappointment in the woman's face is palpable. It pushes Natsuki to respond in haste, "I'm sorry. I'm not the sort… and I don't know the steps. "

"Would you like to learn?" Undaunted, the woman presses on, lips quirking, ever playful. "Come now, I'll teach you the steps. Trust me."

"Trust is earned, and we've only just met." Natsuki grouses. "I don't even know your name."

The woman blinks slowly as realization dawns.

"Of course, of course. I beg your forgiveness... How untoward of me." Her mysterious companion has the good sense to look at least a little abashed, if the blush staining her cheeks is any indication. It could very well just be the biting cold, but it's a flattering color nonetheless.

With elbows on the stone balustrade, Natsuki rolls her eyes at her apology. Still, she cannot help the little smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She recovers fast, but it's appealing, Natsuki finds, these brief glimpses into her humanity, like Natsuki's privy to the secret knowledge that a woman of such stature capable of faux pas as well.

"My name is Shizuru. My lady, will you dance with me?" Again, the woman extends her hand. Her ruby eyes catch the light of the moon and seem to glow. "It won't be for their eyes, I promise you."

The expression on Shizuru's face is the picture of sincerity, but there's an undercurrent about her presence that spurs Natsuki's heart to hammer in her ears. For some reason, the invitation feels more dangerous than the thought of cloak-and-dagger machinations behind locked doors. She's had too much to drink. She's had to much to shoulder. _This bit of whimsy - what could it hurt?_ Natsuki thinks airily.

What could it hurt?

An expectant pause stretches between them, until finally she answers, "Prepare yourself, Shizuru. I have two left feet."

* * *

Natsuki wakes with a gasp to a cold, empty room. The walls spin when she stands. Her legs are shaky as a newborn foal, but there's no time to breathe, no time to gather her bearings.

Instinct dictates such: she must escape this place while she still can.

Natsuki knows this, yet her body can only cope with so much after such lethargy. Like a drunken reveler, she stumbles forward, crashing into a metal work table. Surgical instruments clatter to the floor. Natsuki follows soon after, dragging the table down with her. She chokes on a cloud of dust, and in her confusion, cuts her palm open on a scalpel.

Seething, she stills as the dust settles about the mess she has wrought. In the low light, the blood looks black. Her head throbs. Her heart aches. Alone in this dark, strange place, she holds her head in her hands. Her face is wet with tears. She knows this now, when it mingles with the blood.

Wallowing in the dark like a frightened animal… how wretched and pitiful. _Enough_ , she thinks. There will be time yet to despair. Even now, sleep-fogged as she is, a sense of urgency tugs like a noose around her neck. The longer she dallies, the tighter it pulls.

With grim resolve, Natsuki reaches for the roll of bandages.

* * *

Her joints pop as she stretches her shoulder. The wooden floorboards creak underfoot. With each step Natsuki takes, strength trickles back into her rusty limbs.

Her clothes, this place - it feels wrong. She feels wrong: hallowed out, empty. She fists her bandaged hand over her heart then, as if trying in vain to grasp the intangible. Pain brings lucidity, but all the same, urgency nips at her heels, urging her onward. When she pulls away, she finds that the blood's seeped through the bandages, leaving a bloodstain upon her lapel.

Natsuki hears the beast before she sees it, the shuffling and chinking as medicinal bottles are knocked over and beds are jostled against the wooden floor. How strange it is, to witness such a sight in such a place. It's a massive wolf, pacing restlessly with strange, lumbering movements. The beast spots her soon after, and growls. With its attention pricked, it hurtles over a bed, towards her, maw gaping ravenously, spittle dribbling down its dark fur.

In the split second it takes to react, she chooses to fight rather than give in to instinct and flee, and thanks her prudence for choosing to pocket the scalpel from earlier. Pressing close to the wall, Natsuki waits for it to lunge before dodging to the side. When the beast yowls in pain, stunned by the collision, she stabs its neck in quick succession with the dinky blade.

Blood spurts from the wounds. The beast lets out an enraged roar, thrashing in fury as claws rake the air. Natsuki dodges the first swing, but cannot avoid its teeth where her arm meets her shoulder. There's no time to breathe. If it tosses her like a rag doll, she will break. She stabs it again, first in the eye, then into the soft muscle hinging jaw to skull. She feels the scalpel slice past coarse fur, and through soft muscle, uses the momentum of movement to carve deeper. When the beast loosens its hold enough, she breaks free.

Again, it rages. Clawing blindly at the air, then feebly as the blood loss takes its toll. Natsuki is quick, but not quick enough, is too close to completely avoid the claws slashing her ribs. She backs away then, tries to put the span of an operating table between them as she clutches her bloodied side.

It rears up on hind legs to look at her, one side of its face a bloodied mess. She can hear its weary, guttural panting. Its jaw looks lopsided and wrong, but the way it looks at her, with its one good eye… it feels almost like a sneer.

They stare each other down, hunter to hunted, and Natsuki braces for the final, desperate push. The scalpel in hand is slippery with blood and sweat, but still, she grips it tight. After all, a beast is most dangerous on its last legs. Someone told her that once before… but who?

* * *

Natsuki's breath fogs when she steps out the decrepit building, into a makeshift graveyard. Freedom tastes wrong. Like the world has curdled, she can smell the taint in the air. There's a weight to her clothes, like she's been out in the rain. Natsuki looks down at herself, but whose blood it had belonged to, she can't tell.

Still, she presses on, from dirt paths to cobblestone streets; past the shadow of sprawling buildings, and out, into the light of a pale, blighted sun, which hangs low in the ruddy evening sky. In the distance, mingling with the howling wind, a bell tolls like a death knell. As if she feels its call, the blood in Natsuki's veins sing, the discordant song roaring in her ears, clawing at her mind. _A hunter must hunt_ , it seems to say.

 _A hunter must hunt._

Natsuki clenches her jaw tight.

The first man Natsuki sees, she kills. There's no way around it, that's what she tells herself, when she absconds down the street to escape the weight of her deed. He wouldn't see reason, wouldn't stop swinging at her with his pitchfork, no matter the warnings she shouted, no matter how injured he became.

She stares down at her sullied hands and wants to weep, suddenly overcome by a great sense of loss. _Stop_ , she thinks. _Stop_. The time for tears is not now. She needs to survive this. There is an end to everything and everyone, but this can't be it. Not for her.

And yet fate is not kind. The more she runs, the more she runs into these madmen. There's no escape. She stabs the scalpel into someone's back, then bolts, down a side street. She hammers at a door, begging to be let in, but all Natsuki is met with is a mad cackle. _Let an outsider in on the night of the hunt? Are you daft? Off with you._

How many doors has she rapped on, begging for help? Bloody knuckles are the least of her worries. It's no use. Tonight, those who roam the street are more monster than man. And no one of sound mind will listen to her. No one at all.

The mob catches up to her then, swarming close like carrion to a morbid feast. It is a dead end. She braces herself against the stone wall and fights back with all that she is, but it is not enough.

Their torches burn, their pitchforks rend flesh. Like a canvas, she's speckled with pain and blood, pain and blood, then nothing at all.

* * *

A/N: Chapter 3 reads more like chapter 2.5 haha. Feel free to share your thoughts & queries! I'm not used to writing unsettling stuff, so I feel perpetually weird writing this. Lemme know if it's gone too dark; I'll change the rating to M.

In the meantime, I'll try updating other stories, or writing something lighthearted. :) Take care, readers. One more thing: If you've enjoyed this story even a lil, try reading Monstress by Marjorie Liu & Sana Takeda. I don't think you'll regret it!


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